


Like This

by kingkoblih



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingkoblih/pseuds/kingkoblih
Summary: Michele's father is an Italian mafia leader in New York. He is working in the business too, but he never thought he'd get into such a sticky situation.Emil has no idea what's going on in his life and how he ended up in the middle of a mafia war.But they both do their best to get out of it alive.





	Like This

“Omhp…”

He felt the push on his back and stumbled down the few steps in front of him. He fell face down on the cold, hard floor. He heard the door slamming shut behind him and suddenly he was in darkness. He didn’t move for the first few seconds. Finally. Finally, they let him be. His hands started moving around first. He felt the rough concrete underneath him, the cracks filled with filth, the humid air around him, the musty smell, he heard droplets of water falling into a puddle somewhere in the room. He heard his own breath echoing in the empty space. He didn’t move. He didn’t _want_ to move. Every inch of his body hurt. How wouldn’t it, when he couldn’t even count how many times they hit him. But there was quiet. Finally, there was quiet, something he’d wanted for the past few hours. They kept yelling at him, screaming, the voices didn’t let him fade into unconsciousness, even though he couldn’t understand them half of the time.

He felt a hand on his shoulder suddenly. He was too tired and too sore to react. Besides, he was safe. He knew he was safe – this hand wasn’t like the others, yanking him, shaking him violently. This touch was quite soft, this hand wasn’t there to harm him. Soon the hand called its sister for help and the pair of hands turned Michele on his back. He could hardly see in the darkness, but he could recognize the silhouette of a person kneeling down next to him.

“Jste v pořádku?” he heard a quiet voice. He had to smile, even though his sore, swollen face said otherwise.

“Můžu vám nějak pomoct? Jste v pořádku?” the voice asked again. Michele closed his eyes again. The voice sounded shaky, low. He was sure it must had been a beautiful voice before _they_ broke it.

He felt a piece of fabric going across his face, probably wiping off the tears, blood and sweat that’d been there for hours, days, he wasn’t sure anymore.

“Tady, napijte se…” he heard the man mutter as one of the hands gently lifted his head up and he felt a rim of a cup on his lips. He took a generous gulp of the water. It was times like these when one fully realized the importance and blessing of simple things, such as a drop of clean water to soothe your thirst with. He finally closed his eyes and his weak hands reached up to the hand offering him the liquid he’d been craving for as long as he could remember.

“Thank you…” he whispered. His vocal chords were all raspy from the screaming and he didn’t want to bring any attention to himself from the outside world, anyways. His fingers wrapped around the other man’s wrist and he squeezed it as firmly as he could. “Thank you…” he mumbled once again. His eyelids were too heavy to keep his eyes open.

“Shh, don’t talk,” the other voice said, finally in a language Michele could understand. Before he faded into sleep, he felt the man putting something soft under his head and another big piece of cloth covered his body.

When he woke up, he saw a little strip of light on the dirty floor next to him. His body was still sore, but he finally managed to at least sit up and look around. The room was still quite dark, but he could now at least see what kind of hell his new prison was. It was a large room, probably a basement of some kind, since he could see the pavement through the small, dirty window right under the low ceiling. He shifted slightly and heard a clinging noise as the tin cup that was placed right next to him fell on its side. He also realized the fabric that was draped over him last night was a plaid shirt, very dirty and with a few holes in it. He looked behind himself and finally found what he was looking for.

In the corner of the wet, stinky room, there was a body curled up into a ball. The man was very skinny and his skin was a pale, unnatural colour. His face was covered with a long stubble and his hair was dirty and over-grown. Michele noticed the man was probably way younger than he looked and before he was thrown in here, he was probably in quite a good shape. He was wearing just a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt and Michele noticed he wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks. He was all dirty and his body was covered in bruises, at a better look Michele realized he was even missing a finger on his right hand. He was just curled up in the corner like a stray dog waiting for a rescue.

Michele finally got up and slowly walked over to his saviour. He draped the plaid shirt over the curled up body and sat next to the man, his back leaning against the cold, bumpy wall. He closed his eyes and tried to remember why he was even there.

 

***

 

“So, you’re a Crispino?” the man asked quietly. He’d already explained to Michele that speaking loud might not be a good idea. Don’t make any noise, make them forget about you and you’ll be okay.

Michele nodded as he was eating the humble portion of plain rice in his little bowl. That was their lunch. And breakfast and dinner. Michele’s stomach was twisting around, desperately asking for some food, but he knew if he wanted to survive at least a day or two, he would have to think wisely about his resources. One cup of rice and a cup of water. That’s all they got. And, as he’d heard, that was everything his new companion had been getting for ages. He already knew the man’s name was Emil. And he wasn’t actually much of a man. He was only nineteen, which made the whole situation even more terrible.

“I’ve heard about you guys… What did you do to them?” Emil asked. He had already eaten his few scoops of rice and he set the rest aside, carefully covered with a piece of cloth, so that none of the cockroaches running around happily could get to it throughout the day.

“Nothing. My father,” Michele explained. “He started making business with these people a few years ago just to shave them off, you know. He’s stolen a lot of money from them. But he might have pretty much killed their leader or something, to be honest, I don’t understand much of what they say,” Michele sighed, gesturing towards the door. “But I’m sure papa will come for me,” he added, his voice firm as ever. He wasn’t surprised the man knew about his family, after all, the Italian mafia had been taking over the city slowly but steadily for the past five years.

“Wait, wait… So you’re not _a_ Crispino, you’re _the_ Crispino?” Emil shook his head with a playful smile. “Delightful.”

“How about you?”

“Similar story, probably. My father shot someone he shouldn’t have. Honestly, I don’t know,” Emil shrugged.

“And your father is…?”

“Nekola. Felix Nekola,” Emil sighed. “Don’t look at me like that,” he added quickly and Michele would swear he saw a pout on his face for a second. But how could he stop _looking at him like that_ after hearing that name?

“You’re telling me you’re a son of the king of the city himself? Well…” Michele looked Emil down from his head to toes once more. “You don’t look Russian…”

“I’m _not_ Russian,” Emil said with a bitterness in his voice that clearly showed he’d been correcting people for nineteen years straight. “I’m Czech. And Felix Nekola might be my father, but I’ve never even met him. We never spoke, the only time I ever saw him was on TV. He’s a complete stranger to me and I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Michele listened to those words and felt as if he got punched in the stomach once again. He understood why _he_ was there. He was a part of his father’s work. He knew what was going on. But this poor young boy really didn’t deserve any of this.

“How long have you been here?” he asked. But the answer he got was only a shrug. From how he looked, Emil could’ve been there for a week as well as for a month.

Michele’s stomach let out a terrible noise into the silence. Emil laughed and pat his shoulder before sliding his own bowl of rice towards him. “Here, you need to be strong.”

 

***

“What do you miss the most?”

“Let me see,” Emil yawned and leaned his back against the wall, his arms folded under his head. “My dog. And my grandma. Oh god, grandma’s tomato soup, I sure miss that,” he laughed and looked over at Michele. “How ‘bout you?”

“The bed. And soap,” Michele grinned. “Some would definitely come handy to you, too, young man.”

They laughed.

What else could they do?

It’s been days and nights, they stopped counting a long time ago. They just had each other and the thoughts they were willing to share. Michele tried to be careful for the first few days, but soon he realized he had nothing to hide from Emil. The younger man was so cheerful and full of life, even though Michele felt the life was slowly fading away from his body. He was tall, he was a big man, a bowl of rice couldn’t do him much good. Especially when he ended up giving half of his meal to Michele every single day. Michele tried to refuse, but Emil insisted and so he ate. It was a great help, after all.

A few days later, in the middle of the night, Emil got a fever. Michele tried banging on the door for hours just to get some water and medication for his new companion, but there was no point in it. He ended up sitting down and having Emil’s sweaty, boiling head on his lap for the rest of the night, trying to get the fever down only with a piece of dirty cloth soaked in the water from a puddle under a leaking pipe in the corner of their prison.

Emil looked better now, though still pale and incredibly skinny, but his good mood was back at least and that was a good sign.

“What will you do when you get out of here?” Emil asked, his ocean blue eyes landing on Michele. He couldn’t explain it, but Emil’s eyes always seem to sparkle with joy, even though they were locked down like two rats fighting for survival. Michele soon broke their eye contact and his gaze fell to the ground. He smiled.

“I’ll hug my sister…” he said quietly.

“You have a sister?”

“A twin, yeah,” Michele nodded and looked back up to his new friend. “She’s amazing.”

“Does she work for your father too?” Emil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, not at all. She’s in Switzerland, studying law. She’s the best in her year,” Michele explained. His voice shook slightly. He suddenly felt his insides twisting again. Sara, his beloved sister was so far away… They hadn’t seen each other for almost a year, she tried to call him, but he never had time. Always busy with some family work. Always busy…

“You miss her, don’t you?” Emil asked and Michele felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing him gently. He nodded. He missed his sister more than anything. Sara would know what to do. Sara would never fall for the stupid trap they set on him. Sara would never get in such danger. Sara was a clever girl and she ran away from the family business as soon as she could. But he couldn’t. He loved his father too much, he was too loyal, he couldn’t say no…

“You’ll see your sister, Mickey,” Emil said. Michele didn’t know if it was the tone of Emil’s voice or the way he called him the same nickname as his sister used to, but he felt way calmer after that. His head fell to the side and landed on Emil’s shoulder. It’s been such a long time he could actually enjoy some human touch. And, even though this guy next to him was smelly, sweaty and so skinny he could practically feel his bones underneath the clothes, he felt like at home. He felt loved. After Emil’s arms wrapped around him and he could hear his heart beat in the firm embrace, he knew he would never feel this safe ever again in his life.

For a second he wanted to ask what Emil would do when he got out, but he didn’t dare to interrupt this sacred moment.

***

“So, what does a nineteen-year-old Czech do in New York?” Michele asked. Emil didn’t seem good at all, the past few days were rough for them since the portions of food got cut off significantly. Emil stopped differentiating between night and day, he spent all the time curled up on the floor, usually shaking from the cold surrounding them. Michele had to force-feed him most of the time. As much as it seemed like Emil already gave up, Michele was not willing to stop any time soon. They were getting out of there, he was positive about his father looking for them.

“Just visiting,” Emil mumbled. His head was again on top of Michele’s lap and he felt the Italian’s fingers playing with his hair. “Grandma and grandpa wanted to see me. I live in Williamsport.”

“Well, you’re having the adventure of your life, aren’t you?” Michele chuckled bitterly.

Emil didn’t respond.

Michele leaned down to check on him. Good. Emil fell asleep. Finally.

He sighed and looked around the wet, dirty room. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, but he knew they had to get out of there. There must’ve been a way out, except there wasn’t. Emil told him he already searched every inch of the place before Michele arrived. They tried once more together, but to no success. They were locked in, just like two rats. Except, two rats locked at one place would try to kill and eat each other sooner or later. And Michele and Emil were the exact opposite.

He looked back down at the sleeping man, the face that, not even while in the dream land, didn’t look calm at all. Emil was suffering, he knew it. But he also knew with one another they were able to survive. They couldn’t keep them here forever. If they killed Michele, his father would blow the whole Chinatown up. If there was something Italians would do anything for, it was their family. And Emil was his family now and he would do anything for him. _Anything_.

He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Emil’s forehead.

“I’ll get you out of here, I promise,” he whispered and his hand clutched on Emil’s. “You’ll see your grandparents and your dog and you’ll be happy again. And you can come visit me any time, too,” he added, his voice gaining a bit more cheerfulness. “My father will love you. And, trust me, we all will do all we can not to have you in danger ever again. You saved me here.”

He felt Emil’s fingers tightening around his hand, but he didn’t open his eyes. And before he knew, Michele was crying. All the wounds his kidnappers caused him around his body were already healing, but his heart still hurt so badly. He was constantly watching the life fading away from his friend’s body. Friend’s? No, Emil was way more than a friend for him. He was a support, a shoulder to lean on, a little ray of sunshine in this god forsaken dungeon of despair. And the more he knew about Emil, the more he felt his heart twisting. Twisting because he knew they were meant to meet at some point of their lives. Because he knew they were meant to _be_. Twisting because he so desperately wished they could meet in a different situation. Because he was never sure if this ray of sunshine would come out again in the morning.

“Does your grandma do her own pasta? Like in the movies?” Emil suddenly muttered quietly. That made Michele laugh. He honestly never knew if Emil was cheering him up, or if it was just him being delirious.

“Yeah, she does. But better than in the movies,” he said, gently moving the hair out of Emil’s face. “She makes the best ravioli. And I bet she’ll make them when I bring you home for the first time, she always wants to impress newcomers.”

“I’d love that,” Emil whispered, smiling slightly. His thumb moved slowly across Michele’s knuckles, the only way he could show affection in his state. “You’re a strong guy, Mickey,” he said into the silence.

Michele raised an eyebrow.

“What are you saying?” he shook his head lightly and placed his head on top of Emil’s forehead. He was sweating, his skin was almost burning, he sure had a fever again.

“You’re a strong man and I know you’ll deal with everything with grace,” Emil said, his eyes still closed. “You’ll make your father so proud one day… And your sister too…”

“You’re having a fever, Emil,” Michele tried to cut him off, but Emil kept muttering words over and over again.

“You’ll make everyone so proud and I’m so happy for you…”

“Emil, shh… Please, calm down, everything is alright, we’re alright,” Michele said with a shaky voice. He didn’t want Emil to leave him, not now, not like this, not _ever_. He quickly reached for the dirty rug soaked in water and placed it on Emil’s forehead.

“We’re alright…” Emil repeated and reached up to grab Michele’s other hand too.

Michele was terrified. And he wasn’t sure what scared him more, the thought that Emil wouldn’t make it till his father finds them, or the fact that Emil was smiling and being absolutely okay with that. He brought Emil’s hand up and kissed it.

“When we get out of here, I’m straight up marrying you,” he said jokingly. “We’ll have a giant wedding, with all the bazillions of my relatives and we’ll all spoil you so much.”

Emil’s mouth stretched into a smile again and he laughed.

“Yeah, right. You’ll dump me the second we leave the door.”

Michele gasped theatrically.

“I would never! How can you say something like that!” he squealed, imitating his grand-aunt Lucia. “I mean it, we’ll have a giant wedding and your grandma can make some of that strudel you told me about. I bet you won’t eat anything else, anyways.”

“And you bet right,” Emil agreed, squeezing Michele’s hand again.

Michele was in the middle of another wedding idea when the door smashed open. Emil’s body jerked on his lap and Michele had to close his eyes because of the bright light falling right on his face. He heard footsteps, three or four men, he counted in his mind. Suddenly the weight from his lap was gone and he felt two pairs of hands lifting him up on his feet. He finally opened his eyes and saw two men dragging Emil up the little staircase towards the door. He himself soon followed.

“Your fathers finally got in touch,” he heard one of the men saying. “We got the money, you’re going home.”

Michele felt the giant weight falling from his shoulder. He was still disoriented and couldn’t believe it was actually happening, but he let the men lead him to the only exit from their long-term prison, watching Emil stumbling and not being able to even keep his head up.

“S-So we’re going home?” Michele asked shakily, staring at one of the men holding him. He nodded.

“Yeah, right after we deal with one last thing,” he said. Michele’s body jerked with the loud bang of the door. The second Emil stumbled through, the door slammed shut in front of Michele and he couldn’t continue after him.

“W-What… Hey!” he tried to shake his two guards off, but he was too weak. “Where’s he going?! Where did they take him?!” he had so many questions, but the two men didn’t answer. And then it hit Michele.

Emil’s father didn’t get in touch. Emil’s father didn’t give a shit about this son of his.

“N-No…” he whispered under his breath, his eyes wide with terror as he stared at the rusty door in front of him. “No, do something!” he yelled at the men by his sides. “My father will pay! He’ll pay for both of us, tell them!”

But before he could finish a sentence, an inhumane scream pierced his ears. He started shaking violently and just as he felt the fingers around his arms tightening, he could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. The screaming didn’t stop. It seemed like hours, like years, and these two hands were holding him right at the door to hear every squeak, every word Emil mumbled under his breath in a language he couldn’t understand, every scream that was coming from every cell of Emil’s body.

A gun shot.

The screaming stopped.

And so did Mickey’s heart.

When they finally opened the door in front of him, his eyes were still wide with terror and his face was pale.  The two men dragged him inside the lit up room and he could see Emil’s body right in the middle, on the PVC floor. There were deep cuts all around his arms and legs, it seemed like his shoulder was dislocated and he was laying face down in a puddle of his own blood. Michele could see the clean, round shot wound on the back of his head. His heart twisted. He couldn’t get his eyes off that horrifying display while the two guards dragged him through the room. He wanted to get out of their hold, he wanted to go hug the man who saved his life, he needed to thank Emil for all he’s done for him, but it was too late. Once the door closed behind them and he felt the breeze of fresh air, another pair of arms wrapped around him. He heard his father talking and thanking God for saving his son, he heard all the apologies, but he didn’t really understand them. When he finally snapped out of it, he was already sitting in his father’s car. His eyes were empty now. Though there were still tears streaming down his face, he didn’t seem sad anymore. He seemed broken, he seemed determined.

“Papa,” he said suddenly, taking a grip of his father’s hand that was reaching for the stirring wheel.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any guns with you?”

“Yes, in the trunk, as always, why?”

Michele wiped the tears off of his face and looked his father in the eyes.

“I have some work to finish here,” he said, his voice lacking any emotion.

“Son,” father Crispino placed his hand on Michele’s shoulder. “You cannot think on vengeance this quickly. Let your head cool down, take some rest. We’ll ruin them slowly and painfully. Not like this.”

But Michele was already smiling and it was a smile that brought goose bumps all over his father’s body. He knew this expression. He knew it way too well.

“Oh no, papa. This is not for me. This is for my friend. And I want to do it _exactly_ like this.”


End file.
